Cricket Hunters

by Jeremy Hepler

  She waited motionless, thinking she might’ve dreamed the noise.

  Another couple of taps. This time followed by a loud whisper. “Cel? It’s me. You in there?”

  She peeked out the blinds and Parker waved at her. Her bike was on the grass behind him. The excitement in his eyes made her heart jackhammer. Warmth filled her chest as she raised the blinds and slid the window open. “What are you doing?” She tried to sound serious, tried to fight back her smile, but was unable to dampen her happiness.

  “I felt bad that I’ve had your bike so long and wanted to bring it back.”

  Cel cocked her head and arched a doubtful brow. “If you were that worried about it, why didn’t you give it to me at the cemetery?”

  He stepped back and threw his hands in the air as if given orders by a police officer. “Okay. Okay. You’ve got me.” He dropped his arms. “I didn’t come to give your bike back. But you can have it, though. I really came because I wanted to see you. I wanted to make sure you were okay. Jose and Maria didn’t show back up out there, did they?”

  Cel sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. “Did you guys run into them?”

  “Nope. We just hung out at Abby’s until her mom got home.”

  Cel kept her eyes glued to Parker’s as he stepped up to the window and leaned his face to within inches of hers. His breath smelled sweet. Like a combination of chocolate and vanilla. “I would invite you in, but I don’t want to wake up my abuela. She passed out in her chair in the living room when we got home.”

  “Is she still mad at me?”

  “She wasn’t mad. She just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Parker rose up on his tiptoes and dropped a quick kiss on her. “If I can’t come in there, why don’t you come out here?”

  She raked her hand through his wavy hair. “I don’t know if my abuela is awake or not. If she comes in here and I’m gone, she’ll freak out.”

  “Come on,” Parker plead. “We haven’t spent any time alone together in days.”

  Cel bit at her lip to keep from beaming. “If I do, will you help me do something?”

  “Anything. What?”

  Cel held his gaze for a long second. “Did you see that cat on Maria’s lap earlier?”

  Parker shook his head. “No. Why?”

  “It looked just like Frito.”

  As the statement sunk in, Parker’s eyes widened. “It couldn’t have been though…right?”

  Cel shrugged.

  “What did your grandma say about it?”

  “I didn’t ask her. She was so mad about what I did to Frito before. I was hoping she didn’t see it, so she wouldn’t worry.”

  Parker looked skyward, dropped his eyes back to Cel. “You want to go check the grave real quick? Make sure?”

  A swell of warmth filled Cel’s chest. It was like he could read her mind sometimes. She looked back over her shoulder at her closed door. She knew she shouldn’t leave. She was tired and sore and emotionally wrung. Jose could be hiding around any corner. Yesenia would kill her if she found out. But she needed to check the grave, not only for her safety but also for her abuela’s. On top of that, the idea of having Parker’s undivided attention for a while was too inviting. “One sec.”

  She snuck down the hallway, avoiding the creaky spots, and peeked into the living room. Other than her head being turned to the side, Yesenia hadn’t budged. She was still snoring, too, only quieter. Cel carefully made her way back to her bedroom, eased the door shut, and met Parker at the window. “All right. She’s still asleep. But not for too long. Wait there. I need to change.”

  Without closing the window or lowering the blinds, Cel plucked a T-shirt and jean shorts out of her dresser. Turning her back to Parker in the center of the room, feeling his eyes on her, wanting them on her, she shrugged off her purple robe and stood still for a moment in her underwear and bra before stepping into her shorts and sliding on her shirt. After slipping on shoes, she climbed out the window.

  Parker grabbed the garden shovel off of the back porch and took Cel’s hand in his as they headed for Hunter’s Haven. He met eyes with her in the field behind the backyard. “Are the crickets bothering you? Should we take our sticks? I have my little flashlight.”

  Cel shook her head. With Parker holding her hand, by her side, nothing would bother her.

  They reached Frito’s burial site within minutes, and Parker slid aside the giant rock they’d placed on top, knelt, and patted the dirt. “Feels solid. Doesn’t look like it’s been disturbed or anything.”

  Cel knelt and touched the ground, too. She agreed, but she had to be certain. The best forms of magic were often the hardest to detect. “Give me that.” She took the garden shovel and started digging.

  The scent of decay wafted from the earth almost instantly. Aiming his flashlight at the growing hole with one hand, Parker buried his nose in the crook of his other arm. “Whew. I think he’s definitely still dead.”

  Cel gagged a couple of times but continued digging. About twelve inches down, the garden shovel finally met resistance. She and Parker leaned over the small hole. The flashlight highlighted globs of fur and the sliver of a bone. Cel looked at Parker. “I guess it was a new familiar.”

  Parker nodded. “Probably.” He handed the flashlight to Cel, shoved the loose dirt back into the hole, and then slid the large rock back into place. When they stood, Cel threw her arms around Parker’s neck and kissed him. She felt his desire growing when she ground her pelvis into his. Her heart was beating so fast she couldn’t detect individual beats. She had a million thoughts running through her mind, but they weren’t the type of thoughts you said. They were the type you turned into action. By the way Parker was eyeing her, she assumed—hoped—the same thoughts were running through his head.

  “You want to go back?” Parker asked. “So you don’t get in trouble.”

  “If my abuela woke up, I’m already in trouble, so I might as well make the most of the night.”

  Parker looked left, right, thumbed behind him. “Since we’re already about a third of the way to Table Rock, I guess we could…”

  “Go all the way,” Cel finished, her eyes betraying her intended use of the innuendo.

  Parker’s mouth curled into a smile as he registered the offer in her eyes. Without responding, he took her by the hand and led her deeper into the woods. They exchanged nervous glances as they moved. Their pace quickened with each step, as though they were trying to keep up with their out-of-control hormonal desires. As though the prize of a lifetime waited for them at Table Rock.

  When Table Rock came into view and the trickle of Mesquite Creek hit their ears, Parker jerked to a stop and spun her toward him. He pushed into her, kissing her, wrapping his hands around her waist, running them up the back of her shirt, down the back of her shorts. She reciprocated.

  They lowered to the ground on a bed of leaves and twigs under a gnarled elm tree, undressing from the waist down.

  “Are you sure?” Parker asked. “Out here? Like this?”

  Cel pulled him onto her. Fear of being too young, or not waiting until marriage, or not using a condom or diaphragm, or getting a disease, or getting pregnant after only one time like Rita Owen said happened to her sister—everything her abuela and health teacher had lectured her about, everything the cautious voice inside her head usually screamed—couldn’t best her lust and love for Parker. Not tonight.

  She squealed when she lay back and a twig poked her shoulder blade. Parker rose to his knees. “Here.” He took off his shirt and put it underneath her. “Better?”

  She nodded although she could still feel the twig digging into her shoulder blade, the weight of him on her sore muscles.

  What followed didn’t take long and was nothing like the Skin-A-Max movies she’d seen. It didn’t feel good or pleasurable or make her moan, but it felt right. Having Parker inside her felt right. Like a lock only has one right key. Parker was right for her. Lying underneath him,
listening to him whisper her name as he enjoyed her, she felt as far away as possible from the grief and guilt she’d been buried under for days. She felt free. Like she’d proven to Parker how much she loved him.

  They dressed with their backs to one another and walked out of Hunter’s Haven hand-in-hand. They didn’t speak, only exchanged furtive glances and hesitant smiles. Cel didn’t know what to say. Questions were erupting inside her head, but she couldn’t find the confidence to voice them. What’s he thinking about? Is he thinking what I’m thinking? Was this really his first time, too? Is this something we talk about? Did he like it? Was I good at it? Should we have done it? Does he see me different now? Better or worse? Are we going to keep it a secret?

  When Cel’s window came into view, she breathed a sigh of relief. The inside was dark, which meant Yesenia hadn’t awoken. She turned her back to the house, wrapped her arms around Parker’s neck, and kissed him. When their lips parted, they held eye contact. As Cel searched his eyes and he hers, she sensed that similar questions were erupting inside his head, too. They were on the same plane. They had been all night. Before and after. During. Together. Connected in more than just a physical way. She’d made the right choice.

  “Will you give me a boost?” Cel asked.

  “Of course.” Parker squatted and laced his fingers together.

  She stepped into his hands, climbed into her room, and turned back toward the window.

  “You good?” Parker asked.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  He smiled. She smiled bigger. They shared a moment.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

  “You can help me with all the make-up work I have from the four days I missed last week.”

  “On second thought, I’ll have Omar call you tomorrow.”

  “You’re stupid.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’ll have Omar call you tomorrow.” Parker up-righted Cel’s bike and gave her an imploring, charming look as he threw his leg over the seat. “Can I? For just one more night?”

  She rolled her eyes playfully. “Fine.”

  Right then, she would’ve given him the bike forever had he asked.

  Chapter 29 - Parker

  Riding Cel’s bike, Parker escorted Abby and Jeff home after school on Monday. After the incident with their dad a week earlier, where he’d pounded on the house and scared them into the basement, Abby had been terrified to enter the home alone, fearing Tom Powell might’ve broken in and be waiting inside. Four out of five weekdays, her mom left for work at three-thirty, leaving the house empty for nearly an hour before she and Jeff arrived home. Her mom had filed a restraining order against Tom that night, but the cops hadn’t been able to locate him yet. Abby asked Parker to please follow her and Jeff home and check the house with them, promising him “anything” he wanted if he agreed. He was more than willing.

  Parker led Abby and Jeff through the house, checking closets, under beds, the garage, and the basement. Just like the checks the previous week, they found nothing amiss, no sign of an intruder. After sharing a menthol and school gossip on the back porch, Parker turned on the TV in the living room while Abby forced Jeff to get a snack, go to his room, and shut the door.

  Abby sat on the couch next to Parker, close enough for her leg to rest against his. “Thanks for doing this again for me,” she said. “You’re a life saver.”

  Parker smiled. “No problem.” He put his hand on her thigh, and the moment they met eyes, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Ever since they’d begun this routine last week, their make-out sessions had started more quickly each day, lasted longer, progressed farther. She shoved her tongue into his mouth. He loved the way she always madly swirled it around like a tornado. Like a possessed corkscrew. As he pawed at her chest, she pawed his crotch. They kissed and touched and moaned. She guided his hand under her shirt. She unbuttoned his shorts and was snaking her hand beneath his boxers when she heard footfalls behind the couch.

  She jerked her hand free. “What the fuck?”

  Fumbling to button his shorts, Parker looked over his shoulder. Jeff stood a few feet away, clutching the Bart Simpson doll from the fair. Determination was etched across his face, rebellion pouring out of his eyes.

  “I’m sick of being in there. I want to watch TV.”

  Abby grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. “No! Get the hell out of here!”

  He scooped up the pillow and threw it back, hitting Parker in the head.

  “Not cool, man,” Parker said.

  Abby looped around the couch, stomping toward Jeff.

  “It’s not fair,” he yelled as he fought off his sister’s attempt to grab his arms. “I’m not your fucking prisoner!”

  “If you don’t go back to your room.” Abby jerked Bart Simpson out of Jeff’s hand and held it over her head where he couldn’t reach it. Then she positioned her hands as though she were about to twist off its head like a bottle cap. “Your precious little Bart gets it.”

  “If you do,” Jeff countered. “I’ll tell mom what you and Parker have been doing on the couch after school every day.”

  Abby’s mouth thinned into a tight rope, and when she twisted Bart’s head backwards, Jeff roared and lunged at her. “Give him back!” He fought, got a handle on Bart’s leg, then kicked Abby’s shin hard enough to knock her leg fully out from under her. She dropped Bart and threw her hands out for balance as she pitched sideways. Her shoulder slammed into the wall, cracking sheetrock before she fell to the floor.

  “Jeff!” Parker screamed. “What the hell!”

  Cradling Bart like a football, Jeff bolted into his room, and slammed the door.

  As Parker helped Abby to her feet, a solid thunk, a wood-on-wood crunch, sounded behind Jeff’s door. “What’s he doing?” Parker asked.

  “Pushing his dresser up against the door. The lock doesn’t work.”

  Parker eyed Abby’s leg. The sole of Jeff’s shoe had fileted off a patch of skin exposing pink flesh. Blood oozed to the surface. “You okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said as she rolled her arm, testing her shoulder joint for pain.

  Parker guided her back to the couch. “Wait here.” He made his way to the bathroom in the hall, wet a washcloth, and grabbed a band aid out of the medicine cabinet. Across the hall, Jeff had turned up his radio, loud. The bass rattled the walls.

  After cleaning and bandaging Abby’s wound, Parker tossed the washcloth in the bathroom hamper and returned to the living room to find Abby lacing up her shoes. “I want to leave,” she said.

  “I thought your mom said not to leave Jeff alone.”

  “I know, but…” She stood, puffed her cheeks, and exhaled. “I really want to get out of this house for a little while.”

  One corner of Parker’s mouth lifted as an idea sprouted in his mind. “Okay.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, fished around, and pulled out a five dollar bill. Brandishing it as though it were a worth a fortune, he flicked his eyebrows up and down. “How about we go to Rita’s and get a raspa?”

  Abby smiled, nodded. “What about Jeff?”

  Parker held up a finger. “One sec.” He walked to Jeff’s door, knocked hard, and tried to yell louder than the music. “Jeff! Come out! We’re going to go get snow cones!” He knocked again. “Jeff! Come on, man! Let’s go!” He turned the knob and pushed against the door with all his weight, but it only opened a crack before the dresser stopped it. “Jeff!” Parker hollered through the crack. He figured if he slammed into the door hard enough, the dresser would fall, but he didn’t want to go that far. He looked down the hall. Abby was standing behind the couch, watching him. “He won’t come out.”

  “He’s probably in his closet. He hides in there sometimes when he gets pissed. Mom says it’s best to leave him alone when he does. Let’s just go. We already checked to house. He’ll be fine.” She held up the house key and flashed an exaggerated smile. “I’ll lock the door behind us like a go
od big sister.”

  On the side of the house, Parker mounted Cel’s bike. “You want to ride with me, or are you going to ride yours?”

  Abby paused, appraising the back wheel pegs on Cel’s bike as though they were speaking to her, reminding her of the past, before looking at Parker. “Why did you hold her hand at the funeral the other day?”

  Parker gave her a quizzical, are-you-serious look. “What made you think of that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked down, up. “I thought you said you didn’t like her like that.”

  It wasn’t easy for Parker to lie to Cel and Abby. They were two of his best friends. They were Cricket Hunters. Part of him, the part that had been their friend through thick and thin for years, knew that it was a mistake, that they would eventually figure everything out and his actions would come back to bite him. But another part of him, the young man who felt he knew all and deserved to explore all, liked “the thrill of having the best of both worlds” as his Uncle Marty put it. Cel was a clever, inspiring, beautifully mysterious girl, a challenge. Abby was perkier, sillier, more eager and willing. Easier to cajole. He liked hanging around with both of them. He might even love both of them. He didn’t want to have to make a permanent choice between them. At least not yet. He’d fallen asleep twice this past week daydreaming about what would happen if one of Yesenia’s magic books had a spell or ritual in it that could somehow meld them together. Now that would be perfect.

  “I held her hand because it was Tia Dillo’s funeral, and she was sad,” he lied. “I would’ve done the same for you. Or Natalie. Or Omar.”

  “The look on her face when you grabbed her hand was not a friendly look. It was head-over-heels in love look.”